


Philositos

by CaptainStormChaser



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, Kitchen Sex, M/M, No Russian was learned in the making of this fic, One-sided Karen/Matt if you squint, The punisher is still out there and would love to get his hands on a russian mobster, domestic vladimir, like really slight - Freeform, slight dom/sub undertones, vladimir lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15763764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainStormChaser/pseuds/CaptainStormChaser
Summary: Matt is late for dinner. His boyfriend expresses his disappointment.





	Philositos

**Author's Note:**

> Philositos– An. Greek, _lover of food_

It was Karen’s knock on his office door that had Matt pausing his computer, halting the audio playback of the case file.

“Foggy and I are going to get drinks. Do you want to come?” She asked him.

Matt gave her a sheepish smile. “Gotta finish this up before I go.” He explained apologetically. “Next time?”

Her voice fell with disappointment, however she tried to hide it with a jovial tone. “Sounds good. Don’t stay too late.” The click of the door closing, then of footsteps departing Nelson and Murdock. Matt was alone.

There were no messages on his phone, meaning the two calls he’d received earlier in the day (his phone softly chiming _home, home, home_ while he tried to work, the incidents several hours apart) were owed entirely to the caller’s boredom rather than any urgency.

Matt left the office an hour earlier, taking a cab to his apartment.

He could smell the lingering scent of food, becoming increasingly familiar with what constituted as “real” food as compared to “shit”.

The sole heartbeat was slowed with alcohol, the sharp, clean smell of vodka in the air.

Boots touched down onto the floor when the occupant heard Matt outside, though the shift in weight wasn’t enough to be someone getting to their feet.

Matt tried the door, finding it locked, meaning his guest hadn’t left the apartment. Reassuring, as Castle was still out there and would probably love to pump said guest full of lead. Once inside, Matt locked the door once more.

“You are late.” Vladimir informed him once he’d rounded the corner, his voice slurred in timbre, though barely perceptible.

“I didn’t know you were cooking.” The food wasn’t out anymore; likely put in Tupperware containers in the fridge, though the smell of lamb and onions lingered. Matt propped his cane up against the wall, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.

“I called.”

Matt paused his loosening his tie. Ah.

“Did you eat already?”

Vladimir hummed his affirmation, downing what remained of the bottle in his hand–thankfully beer.

Matt opened the fridge and pulled out the Tupperware container, still warm. Inside was a thick stew, which Matt began spooning into his mouth, a low moan leaving his throat in appreciation.

“Is even better hot.” Vladimir rose from the couch, coming up behind Matt. His hands rested on Matt’s hips, thumbs drawing circles. “Turn around, let me see.”

Matt sighed, placing his glasses on the counter and turning. Vladimir didn’t give him any extra room, continuing to crowd him against the counter. Even breath glanced over Matt’s neck every few seconds, and he began eating again.

The meat practically melted on his tongue, the broth savory. Pieces of potato were more solid, still soft but giving some resistance in the center.

Matt knew it was coming, but still made a noise of surprise as moist lips latched onto his neck after he’d taken his last bite.

Vladimir took the Tupperware and spoon from him, setting it on the counter, then his hands were on Matt. They roved over his hips as before, then along his sides and lower back.

“You were late because you ignored call.” Vladimir said into Matt’s ear, voice rough and pitched low.

“I’m sorry Volodya,” Matt said sincerely, well aware of how the nickname affected his lover. “I really am, and I-”

“‘Sorry’ fixes shit.” Vladimir growled, though not with anger in his voice. “I think you make it up to me.” The Russian’s hands dipped down over Matt’s ass, rolling their hips together and grinding his erection into Matt’s thigh.

Matt nodded, playing, for the moment, the role of reluctance and naïveté. “What can I do?” He asked. “I could make you dinner tomorrow,” he offered. “Or I could rub your back,”

“Nyet.” Vladimir rumbled, hands curling into Matt’s waistband to untuck his shirt.

Vladimir attacked his mouth then, too much teeth and tongue but still good. Matt started to unbutton his shirt, but Vladimir swatted his hands away, quickly shoving buttons through holes. Matt’s shirt was shoved from his shoulders the second it was untethered, Vladimir throwing it carelessly to the floor. Matt, it seemed, would be merely an observer in this stripping, and shoved his fingers into short hair, tugging and pulling periodically as Vladimir all but ripped his belt from him.

“We don’t have lube out here.” Matt reminded the Russian, getting an answering grunt.

Vladimir yanked Matt’s pants down to his knees, then spit into his own hand. Matt had a comment on his tongue about safe amounts of prep involving anal sex, dissolving when Vladimir’s hand began running over the insides of his thighs, wetting them, pushing over Matt’s balls just briefly enough to have him shudder. Oh. _Oh._

The clamor of Vladimir’s belt was followed by fabric as his own pants were shoved down. Spitting again, then the wet sound as Vladimir spread his saliva over his cock.

“Legs together.” The Russian instructed, positioning his dick between Matt’s thighs and pushing forward.

It wasn’t unpleasant, but a bit of pressure at the base of Matt’s cock (and the intermittent touch of head to perineum) was nowhere near enough to give Matt any real pleasure.

Matt squirmed against Vladimir, trying to press his cock to Vladimir’s clothed belly, his hip, anything.

The Russian took Matt in hand, squeezing rhythmically as he thrust between Matt’s legs.

Vladimir might have been crooning something about Matt’s legs, his ass, his face, but all Matt could focus on was the insufficient friction. His legs trembled with the effort of staying standing while keeping them pressed tightly together, Vladimir’s thick cock sliding back and forth between them, separating the damp skin and then letting the space close back up.

Then the hand on his cock was jerking him off, fast and insistent, and hot words huffed into Matt’s ears, and he came between them, across his belly and Vladimir’s hand and shirt.

Vladimir kept going, kept fucking his thighs at that brutal pace, his hands holding Matt by the ass and anchoring him until he came between trembling legs, some of his seed getting on the front of the kitchen counter.

They stood there, spent and sweat cooling, leaning on the counter top for support for several moments. They exchanged heavy breaths, but no words.

Vladimir fixed his pants, and Matt stepped out of his own. The Russian left Matt in favor of going to the sink, shedding his soiled shirt. A warm dish towel was used to clean the mess from their skin, and then kitchen cabinet doors.

Some time later, the pair lay in Matt’s bed together, legs tangled and Vladimir’s face in Matt’s neck, breathing slowed but still awake.

“You weren’t actually upset about dinner, were you?” Matt asked with a hint of amusement.

Vladimir exhaled sleepily, pulling Matt closer to him and muttering a string of Russian.

“Meaning?” Matt took Vladimir’s lower lip between his own, teeth poised over it.

The soft click of closed eyes opening.

“No. Still good though.” Vladimir rolled on top of Matt, kissing him soundly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave a comment and tell me what you thought.
> 
> *paddles frantically away in this leaky canoe of a ship*


End file.
